


It Just Came to Me

by busaikko



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Mindfuck, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from SGA anonmeme: Rodney is raped by a brilliant idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Just Came to Me

Rodney would never admit that he found the labs disconcerting late at night when they were deserted. He liked the quiet. He liked being able to concentrate without being badgered every five minutes to sign this or fix that or stop erasing Radek's whiteboard or _aren't you ready for the mission yet, don't tell me you forgot_.

An empty lab was a restful and productive lab.

Except when it was Janus' lab, replete with memories of kidnapping and deadly devices. Then it was a creepy lab.

The irrational back of Rodney's mind hated going through Janus' damn door. It worried that somehow he wouldn't be able to get out again, and that no one would be able to get in. Rodney pretended he didn't feel that way, but he had a week's supply of MREs stashed under the back table. Just in case.

The tantalising hints of secret work being done on ZPM production that Rodney had teased from the database were more than enough for him to quash his primal fears and wade into Janus' research. He could get a Nobel for this, he thought, his attention divided between his tablet and the Ancient data terminal. If he could bring it to fruition, they would make him _king_.

He had just realized _how it would work_ and was grinning at his own brilliance while typing and picturing Sheppard dropping clumsily to his knees to (resentfully) worship Rodney in a befitting manner, when the Ancient terminal wiped clear, and then flashed a pop-up.

Rodney did not like that. He huffed and translated the message irritably. It told him to proceed to the _cognoscus_. He tapped at the unfamiliar word until the database coughed up a schematic of a round bowl-like device. He was pretty sure he'd seen one of those in the closet. Dr Martinez had joked that it was a hair dryer.

As Rodney rooted through the boxes of clobber in the closet, he thought about how much he hated Dr Martinez. Idiot. They were all idiots.

He looked at the _cognoscus_. It blinked back at him in pale blue and green lights. At least he wasn't going to need to wake Sheppard up to activate the thing. He suspected it was some kind of 3D imager, something that would show him what Janus had been working on. He sat down. Another Ancient pop-up informed him helpfully that he needed to put it on his head.

He was very glad that no one else was there. He felt ridiculous. He felt—

Like the whole world was gone, swallowed up in blackness that was so utter that Rodney had the sensation of spinning in zero-g, as well as the accompanying nausea. He tried to move his body at all, and couldn't. He swallowed hard, or thought he did; he couldn't feel anything at all. In desperation, he thought about Janus' ZPM, trying to build it up from the mental image in his head.

He could see the device being built all around him (light, at last, _finally_ , not that he was panicking) and then he was _in_ the ZPM, its crystal walls rising up around him, the mathematics of zero-point energy wrapping tightly around him like a vortex or, or Indiana Jones' whip. It was brilliant and it was terrifying, and Rodney could feel that the project knew him as well as he knew it.

That it hated him for not being Janus or an Ancient, for being _the wrong one_ when it had been waiting here for-fucking-ever. Rodney had made the database divulge its secrets.

And Janus' project had tricked Rodney into coming here, where he was helpless.

Cruelly, Rodney was left to hang there long enough to think of all the terrible, terrible ways he could be violated or tortured or killed. He was already hyperventilating (or so he thought) when the first formulae crawled under his skin. They were brilliant; he could see them shining as they moved like spiders up the bones of his arms, and he could feel them sharp inside his legs. They were everywhere in him, and the worst was when they made him feel good. He had genius in his ass and crawling up the inside of his dick and burrowing into his nipples. He didn't want it, any of it, it was repulsive and the thought of ever being touched again made him want to vomit. But still the formulae came, trailing a glitter of mathematics, marking him.

Every touch made Rodney want to cringe away from his own body. He was incredibly turned on. He had a tide of alien knowledge building inside him, and he knew with horror where it was headed.

He started screaming when the first ideas forced their way into his brain, and he kept screaming until he finally blacked out.

He woke with his forehead pressed painfully to the Ancient console, the _cognoscus_ gone—fallen to the floor, he realised, as he shoved back from his chair and as far away as he could get from, from all of it.

He was out the door and halfway down the corridor when he felt the presence, brilliant and terrible and enormous and indelible, of the project in his head. Inescapable.

He leaned against the wall, and then slid down, hurting everywhere. His underpants were wet, he discovered, sticky and disgusting. He almost hoped that he'd just pissed himself, but no. He wondered what it said about him that he'd come from having his mind raped; and then he took a breath, and another, and admitted to himself that he was going to use his knowledge to build a ZPM.

Even though he hated it.

Even though he hated what that said about himself.


End file.
